


The Witching Hour

by frnklymrshnkly, GingerTodgers



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crack, F/F, Forbidden Forest, Hardcore Hand-holding, Samhain, WLW Solidarity, brown-noser Narcissa, dubious rituals, forest caper, mentions of sensible bed sex, petulant Bellatrix, sadly ruined trainers, scorn at insensible forest sex, surprise props, tangential Remus Lupin/Sirius Black, teenaged clichés, teenagers being teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 12:53:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16475939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frnklymrshnkly/pseuds/frnklymrshnkly, https://archiveofourown.org/users/GingerTodgers/pseuds/GingerTodgers
Summary: Three Gryffindors, two Slytherins, two Ravenclaws and a Hufflepuff walk into a forest…





	The Witching Hour

**Author's Note:**

> Big big thank you to josephinestone for modding [HP Sapphic Appeal Samhain Love Fest](https://hpsapphicappeal.livejournal.com) and making more space for HP wlw content. And to beta reader extraordinaire, [TDCat](https://tdcatsblog.tumblr.com), we love you.

It was raining. It was raining, the forest floor was a sea of leaf mulch, the only light came from their wands and _still_ they marched on. Minerva asked herself if the charm could have failed as, a couple of steps ahead, Rolanda continued pushing her way through the wet, slapping tree branches.

“Rolanda?” Minerva ventured. “Is it worth checking the-”

“It’ll go off when they’re all back in their dorms,” said Rolanda.

“Yes but-”

“Look, Min.” Rolanda came to an abrupt stop and wheeled ‘round to face Minerva. The movement brought them close enough to merge their umbrella charms. “Has the Student Spotter ever failed us?”

“No.”

“And has it gone off?”

“No.”

“Well then.” Rolanda stepped back, scrubbing a hand through her short damp curls. “Shall we crack on?” The look of weary frustration on her face sent a burst of shame rolling through Minerva.

“Of course.” Squaring her shoulders, she sidestepped Rolanda and pressed forward.

The rain continued pelting down through the trees. They’d already passed the Thestral enclosure, stopping to hold out Ice Mice on open palms. While Minerva was under no illusions about how seriously the students took the ‘Forbidden’ part of the ‘Forbidden Forest’, she knew that few students made it this far. There weren’t even any sacred Samhain landmarks, unless you counted the fabled Pissing Post, which Minerva most determinedly did not.

“I’m going to strap each Black sister to her own broom and fire them directly into the sun,” said Rolanda, coming to walk next to Minerva.

“You assume we will live to see the sun rise.” Minerva smiled, enjoying Rolanda’s bark of laughter.

“You sure you’re not one of these mopey teenagers we’re tracking down?” Rolanda gently bumped her. “Don’t worry, we’ll find them and then use Bellatrix’s thousand-yard-stare to burn a path out of here.”

“What can they be doing this far out? You don’t think they’ve been kidnapped?” The thought of _another_ firecall with Walburga Black was enough to make Minerva feel light-headed. Or bilious. Neither of which was an ideal condition in which to be tracking students.

“Min?” Rolanda had stopped again, wrapping a strong hand around Minerva’s elbow and pulling her to a halt. “I don’t think they’ve been kidnapped. I _think_ that they’re out here doing some rancid half-cocked Samhain ritual that Bellatrix picked out of the back of _Witch Weekly_. I also think that we should take a break.”

“We have to find them…” Minerva strove for conviction and came up short at resignation. Rolanda was already casting permission spells on the trees around them, asking for approval to build a shelter, some chairs and… “A table?” Minerva asked. “Are you enjoying the forest so much you plan to set up residence here?”

“Ha ha.” Rolanda was watching the permission spells hiss and fizz as they were absorbed by the forest’s magic. “What if I did? Would you stay here with me? You know,” she gave Minerva a sly look, “like that musical Binns made us watch over the summer.” She hummed a few bars.

“ _Calamity Jane_?” Minerva’s voice came out as a croak — was she coming down with something? Oh, this was too much. An evening spent chasing teenagers around the Forbidden Forest right before Parent’s Night, fantastically planned, Deputy Headmistress. Bravo.

“Yes! Gals in gingham, that’s what Flower called it.” Rolanda carried on casting spells, leaving Minerva grimacing to herself. Flower. What was wrong with a simple Pomona? Or Professor Sprout? Rolonda’s insistence on giving everyone nicknames really was too- “Min? Care to step inside or are you working on a water-bound Animagus?” Rolanda was peeping out of a white waxed canvas tent.

“Sorry.” Minerva stepped inside, raising her eyebrows at the Thestral-riding ribbons that decorated the inside of the tent.

“Hush,” said Rolanda, fastening the tent flap in place and stepping over to the kitchen. “I learnt this spell in third year, keep forgetting to update it.”

“Well… it’s impressive transformation work.” Minerva moved further into the tent, taking in the metal cot, camping table, and immaculately swept lino floor.

A spell that had languished for a few decades could be expected to show some wear and tear, suggesting that Rolanda made regular use of the tent. Maybe during her annual Quidditch and Cuttings tours with Pomona? Minerva had hoped to join them this year, but last minute duties gobbled up her summer. The memory of Rolanda’s disappointment when she had to pull out, again, spurned Minerva on to finish her inspection. The dragonhide gloves on the shelf were probably Pomona’s, Rolanda had no interest in Mandrake cuttings, and-

“Tea?” Rolanda was holding out a steaming enamel mug. The cooling charm fizzing around her fingertips transferred to Minerva’s hand.

“Thank you.” Following Rolanda’s lead, Minerva settled into one of the armchairs. Her mug had a small tabby cat painted on the front. There were some funny markings around its eyes. As if the paint had chipped away or… Raising the mug, Minerva asked; “Is this supposed to be me?”

“I don’t know.” Rolanda grinned. “Do you think it looks like you?” Shaking her head and trying not to smile, Minerva hooked a long finger around her own glasses and peered over the top of them. “I… ahem,” Rolanda descended into a flustered coughing fit. “You’re a menace, you know that? Probably a good thing you don’t come on those holidays with me and Flower, nightmare.”

“Well, now I must go.” Minerva sipped her tea, keeping her eyes on Rolanda.

“Promises, promises. Right.” Clearing her throat, Rolanda pulled the Student Spotter from her robes. “Let’s see what this piece of nonsense has to say for itself.”

The Student Spotter was rather damp, the glass fogged with condensation. Summoning one of the riding ribbons, Rolanda carefully wiped the lenses dry, her fingers brushing against the small bell perched on top.

Much to Minerva’s chargain, her cat side was still partial to a well rung bell and she felt her invisible whiskers twitch.

“Careful,” she said, reaching out to take the Spotter. Rolanda handed it over, smothering a smile when Minerva absent-mindedly patted the bell. Drawing her wand, Minerva cast the first spells she’d learnt as a trainee Professor, spells she could probably cast in her sleep if needs-

“Watch it!” Rolanda batted the smoking Spotter out of Minerva’s hand. It bounced off the table, leaving a scorch mark on the wood. “What the?” Jumping up, Rolanda cast Aguamenti.

“I…” Lost for words, Minerva joined Rolanda’s silent inspection. The Spotter appeared to be unharmed, whirring gently as it started to tabulate the whereabouts of every student on Hogwarts’ grounds. As was expected, four small flags popped out of the Spotter: BB, NB, AB and ZZ. “Well at least-” Minerva let out a gusty sigh as two more flags popped out: SB and RL. “Sirius and Remus, I presume.”

“Huh. Too many bloody Blacks at this school.” Rolanda nudged the Spotter with the toe of her muddy boot. “Too many bloody Blacks in this bloody forest. Isn’t Sirius in a snit with Bellatrix? Or is it the other way ‘round?”

“I fear I’m having enough difficulty keeping track of that family’s physical whereabouts.” Minerva confessed, straightening up and reclaiming her mug of tea. “Their emotional entanglements are truly beyond me.”

“Hm. Well. Oi.” Rolanda looked up at Minerva, as if only just catching sight of her. “Shouldn’t you be resting?”

“Should I?” Minerva took another sip of tea. Somewhere in the back of her mind irritation and anxiety were blossoming at the thought of not four but six students out after curfew.

“Yes, you terror. Why else did I build this thing?” Rolanda executed a windmill gesture.

“To impress me?” She’d blame it on worry over the students, Minerva decided as the words hung between them. She was overworked, possibly ill, definitely exhausted and absolutely sick of the Forbidden Forest. Some light-hearted flirting could easily be explained away.

“I don’t need to transform a tent to impress you.” Rolanda finally spoke, her voice level as she gripped Minerva’s elbow and maneuvered her back into one of the armchairs. “Now. Sit there until the colour comes back into your cheeks, and we’ll come up with a strategy for catching these students.”

“I… Very well.” Minerva nodded, clearing her throat. “Come along, then. Tell me your plan.”

“Right.” Rolanda sat too, propping her elbows on the table. “We know Narcissa’s the weak link, especially when it comes to staying in the Professors’ good books. She’ll be wanting to take one of the familiar paths, easier to pass it off as something to do with schoolwork if they get caught. Zadie will be fussing over her trainers so that means they’re sticking to high ground…”

Rolanda carried on laying out her strategy, voice low and soothing as Minerva felt her eyes start to close. Rain pattered down on canvas, and the forest shifted beneath them, settling in for the duration. At some point Minerva’s mug disappeared and a soft warming charm whispered across her shoulders. Fighting valiantly every step of the way, Minerva slept.

***

“What was that?” Narcissa demanded. She was walking in front of Andromeda, along some of the highest ground in the forest. “You don’t think any teachers followed us in, do you?” 

“We’re balls deep in a dark and frightening forest, which is literally Forbidden, on Samhain, and you’re worried that some teachers are going to catch us up?” Sometimes, Andromeda despaired of her sisters. Regularly. Often. With great frequency, one might say. And yet, on this occasion, Andromeda had to concede that it was completely her fault that Narcissa was jumping at her own shadow and Zadie kept lamenting the sacrifice of her shoes to the caper. (The fact that they were adding miles to their trek in order to stay on the high ground, thereby avoiding the muddy puddles lower down that threatened to blacken any shoe or hem that touched them was hardly going to stop Zadie complaining her fill. Which would be fine if Andromeda didn’t find it so bloody charming.)

So maybe it was Andromeda’s fault they were in the forest. But fault and blame were two different Nargles, and while Andromeda could allow that the _fault_ was hers, it would be more correct to _blame_ Sirius. And Remus, she supposed. She wasn’t above apportioning guilt by association.

Then again, if Sirius hadn’t lied to her mother over the summer hols, claiming that the copy of _Wanton Witches_ Druella had found in Andromeda’s room was his, Andromeda would have faced a summer without Zadie’s overnight visits, which would have been frustrating on any number of levels. So she did owe him one...

And anyway, did it really matter who was at fault and who was to blame? Certainly, it would be satisfying to blame someone else for this, but it wouldn’t change the fact that it was pissing rain, and she was doing her best to stay upright while walking along terrain that sloped downward sharply on her right. But really? Was Bellatrix blameless? After all, though Andromeda had suggested they do something to mark the last Samhain when she and her sisters would be at school together, it was Bellatrix’s fool idea to trudge into a dark wood filled with dark creatures on a dark night to perform some kind of magic that was, no doubt, a few shades south of grey. Andromeda had always known that nothing good could come of reading _Witch Weekly_. 

“If we get caught it won’t matter that you’re nearly done with school, Andromeda.” Narcissa spoke in a voice that Andromeda knew well. It was the one she used when she was talking to herself. “Because I’ll be stripped of my badge and expelled.”

“Do we need to be present for this soliloquy, strictly speaking?” Zadie asked Andromeda.

“No, but Narcissa works best with an audience.”

“I’m ignoring you, just so you know,” Narcissa advised.

“Wish you would,” Zadie called behind her in a sign-song way. 

“Stop acting like children,” Bellatrix snapped from their front of the line, childishly. “The veil is thin tonight; have a little reverence. This forest is seeped in ancient magic.”

“Just so we’re clear, I came along for a bit of snogging,” Zadie informed the others, turning to Andromeda and smiling. “Though I’m not opposed to veils. They add a touch of drama to an ensemble.”

Andromeda and Narcissa both laughed while Bellatrix pretended to be above such petty things as humour and levity.

“And I’m here to for a last hurrah,” Andromeda added, even though it was a pile of bollocks and she was _really_ here because Sirius had notions as ludicrous as Bellatrix’s, although his were of a romantic sort, rather than of a kind that sent up red flags. “Though some snogging won’t go amiss, I’m sure,” she added, reaching out to squeeze Zadie’s hand.

“And I’m here,” Narcissa whinged, “because I always let you all talk me into the stupidest-”

“You’re here because you wouldn’t know whether to go left or right without a bloody map approved by Bellatrix,” Zadie muttered.

“What was that, Zabini?” Bellatrix asked, always keen to stir the shit cauldron.

“She said are you going to tell us precisely what we’ll be getting up to tonight, Bella? Now that the night’s upon us and we’re actually here.” When Andromeda had agreed to play decoy for Sirius, she’d been relieved that Bella had jumped on the idea of a Samhain frolick, even if Bella had effectively turned it into a Samhain Observance of the Most Dull and Sombre Order. Still, Andromeda, not naturally a schemer, was more than happy to benefit from her most overwrought sister’s predilection for plotting.

“Yes, do tell, Bella,” Zadie agreed in her sweetest voice, because Bellatrix loathed being called Bella by anyone other than her sisters.

Bellatrix halted for a moment to cast a superior, I-know-something-you-don’t-know smirk over her shoulder at the other three. “We’ll be performing an ancient rite,” she said. 

“Oh, will we?” Zadie affected mock surprise. “And here I thought we were traipsing into a forest filled with lethal creatures on Samhain to practice cross-species Transfiguration.” The accompanying eye-roll was audible. “Obviously we’re doing an ancient fucking rite!”

“What kind of rite?” Narcissa asked.

“Did you bring props, Bella? Is that what’s in your bag?” Zadie pressed. 

The question was met by a silence in which Bellatrix used aggressively straight posture to convey that she would not be giving Zadie the satisfaction of admitting that she had, indeed, packed props. 

“I’m not taking my clothes off, by the way, so if it’s _that_ kind of rite you can leave me out of it. This jumper is cashmere, and if you think I’m hanging it off a gnarled, moss-covered old branch-”

“No one’s getting naked,” Andromeda agreed. It was cold out, for fuck’s sake. “At least not until we’re back in our dorm,” she added for Zadie’s benefit, because even though she was the level-headed one, she was not without a reasonably developed (but appropriately timed) spirit of sexy mischief.

***

“What are the chances that Bellatrix is currently communicating with one of her dreadful ancestors?” Rolanda had woken Minerva with another cup of tea, laced with something appropriately Scottish. She was distracted when she asked the question, unravelling a transformation was nerve-racking enough without having to do it in front of Minerva. Minerva who was being suspiciously quiet… “You alright?” Rolanda looked up and promptly lost her grip on the guy rope she’d been wrestling.

“You don’t really think they are practising the dark arts?” Minerva looked completely stricken, the half-drank cup of tea hanging loosely from one hand.

“Er…” Bellatrix’s desire to commune with the decrepit bigots rattling around in the Black family crypt had been mildly amusing during her first year. Six years later and Rolanda would have bet her entire stock of Bouncing Brooms Beeswax that Bellatrix Black was either attempting to slaughter a unicorn or about to sacrifice one of her sisters - probably Narcissa. Judging by Minerva’s face, now was not the time to share this information. “Well… I supposed they might be trying a love potion?”

“Is that likely?” Minerva sounded far too hopeful for a Professor who regularly taught James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, and Zadie Zabini. Unable to lie to her face, Rolanda shrugged and went back to collapsing the tent. “Maybe we should send for reinforcements.” Minerva murmured to herself, absent-mindedly performing the final shrinking spell that would normally take Rolanda ten minutes of furious swearing and a pain potion to complete. “Albus might be back from London by now and-”

A sound echoed around the clearing in which Rolanda’s magical accomodations had stood not a minute before.

Rolanda checked her watch. “Getting close to midnight.” She and Minerva shared an eye roll. “Trust a bunch of teenaged Blacks to love a cliché.”

***

As the trees became sparser and the ground evened out, Andromeda had moved on from internally haranguing, in turns, Sirius (for embodying the textbook condition of Hairbrained Schemer), Remus (for having at least a streak of good sense (well, dullness) but utterly failing to deploy it where his mates were concerned), and herself (for forgetting to enchant the pages of _Wanton Witches_ into something innocuous enough not to interest her mother). It was far more gratifying to drill Bella on what she had planned. Commonsensical though she was, Andromeda had never been able to pass up an attempt to make her haughty sister, well, haughtier.

“Bella, I know it must be doing wonders for your superiority complex to withhold information, but we’ve humoured you the last hour or more, and you’ll bloody well tell us right now: first, where we’re going; second, how much further; third, what you intend to do when we get there; and fourth-”

Zadie cut her off, “Whether you use that repulsive baby voice during your private interludes with Rudolphus.”

“I forbid you to answer that,” Andromeda said, smiling at Zadie in private, approving amusement.

“You can’t tell me what to do,” said Bellatrix petulantly. “Why must you always try to spoil the-”

“Dramatics,” Andromeda grumbled.

“The _fun_ ,” Bellatrix spoke over her - the word sounded foreign to her tongue. 

Andromeda was well resigned, even before she’d submitted her point-by-point demands, to receiving no answer. Bellatrix was nothing if not cagey, and it didn’t take a quantum arithmancer (and in any case, Andromeda practically was one) to work out that they must be heading for a clearing; even if the the trees had not been getting thinner and thinner on the ground, where else did a disquietingly dark-arts-inclined ring leader take a group of witches in a macabre forest on Samhain night?

Her inner diatribe was suddenly derailed. 

“Shhh!” Narcissa intoned, though none of them had said a word since Bellatrix pretended to know what fun meant. Narcissa pressed a finger to her pursed lips. “Did you three hear something?”

“Not this again; you’d scarper from your own shadow,” teased Zadie.

“No, wait,” Andromeda said. “Stop for a moment, and hush, all of you.”

Silence fell amongst the trees, and yet, not far off, sound broke it. More specifically, the sound of human voices. 

“Who’s that?!” Narcissa demanded, as though her companions could possibly answer her.

“Not exactly the one you want around in a jam, is she?” Zadie whispered to Andromeda. 

The voices were becoming louder. Andromeda felt like she could almost make one or two of them out.

“Come on,” Bellatrix instructed. “I want to see who else is here.”

“Oh, Bella, no! Let’s get out of here! What if it’s-”

Bellatrix couldn’t seem to bear her youngest sister’s wimpiness. “What, Cissy? A werewolf? A lethifold? A-”

“Livid professor demanding an explanation for what you four are doing in the _Forbidden Forest_ at this hour - scratch that - at any time.” The remonstrating voice of Professor Minerva McGonagall was unmistakable. “I was despairing of finding two of my own house in here tonight. So I suppose I can at least take solace knowing that Ravenclaw and Slytherin each match Gryffindor in foolish decision making.”

“At least these four are clothed.” Madam Hooch came into sight just behind McGonagall, frog-marching Sirius Black and Remus Lupin, each by an ear, through the sparse trees.

“Alright girls? Narcissa?” Sirius grinned.

“I’m a girl, too,” said Narcissa, predictable as ever. Andromeda and Bellatrix shared a sisterly-sigh over how easily riled Cissy continued to be.

“You always say that, and does he ever stop?” Andromeda dropped her voice. Not enough, apparently, as Sirius’ grin grew.

“No, but he still shouldn’t do it.” Narcissa huffed. To be fair, she had a point.

“Don’t be any more of a dickhead than you already are,” Andromeda said to Sirius.

“Language!”

“Me?!?”

Sirius and McGonagall spoke at the same time. For probably unrelated reasons, Remus and Hooch both chose that moment to have a coughing fit.

“Oh, I like that,” Sirius continued, dropping into that cringeworthy Essex boy accent he favoured at Hogwarts. “I ask you to do one thing, you do the exact opposite, and now I’m the dickhead?”

“Language!”

“Give it up Min,” Hooch whispered to McGonagall. “Eyes on the prize.” She punctuated her suggestion with a soft squeeze to McGonagall’s wrist.

“Quite right,” McGonagall turned back to the students, her cheeks a little pink. Andromeda filed this away for further mulling at a later date. Sometime after she finished defending herself against Sirius’ blatant slander.

“One thing?” she demanded, fury washing through her as Sirius took an exaggerated step back, holding up both hands and giving Remus a ‘women, eh?’ look. “I had to get this lot out of the dungeons,” she gestured to Narcissa, Zadie, and Bella, all of whom froze in the middle of inching backwards into the forest. Shit. Well, Andromeda had ruined any chance of escape, might as well crack on. “Make sure we tripped all the student alarms, piss around in the Forest of Fuck for hours in the rain, and then-”

“And then you led them right to us!” Sirius interrupted, throwing both hands up in the air. Because Sirius The-Stage-Is-My-Canvas Black was allowed to be as dramatic as possible, but Circe’s cunt forbid that Andromeda lost her temper even a little bit. “Sorry about this, Moony,” Sirius continued. “Wanted to organise something a bit special for us, but you know how unreliable girls can be.”

“Er.” Remus paused to take in the fact that he was surrounded by women. “Well, I appreciate it, but maybe we should be getting on and-”

“Not a chance.” Hooch grabbed a handful of Remus’ half-buttoned robes and hauled him back into place.

“Indeed,” said McGonagall, eyeing Remus. “The six of you have led Madam Hooch and myself on a not-so-merry chase tonight, and I can assure you that the consequences will be appropriate.”

“Professor McGonagall?” Narcissa raised her hand, as if her sisters had never taught her better. “I think there’s been a mistake. I was actually gathering ingredients for my Potions class.”

“Is that so?” McGonagall’s raised eyebrow was sharp enough to sever an artery.

“Yes, Professor, look.” Narcissa reached into her robes and produced a handful of slightly wilted leaves. Well. Maybe she was Andromeda’s sister after all.

“Nice one, Cissy.” Zadie spoke for the first time since they entered the clearing. “As your Potions partner and fellow collector of ingredients, I must voice my ongoing support of your commitment to-”

“Oh pack it in,” said Hooch. “The pair of you aren’t even in the same year, and everyone in this clearing-” she made an expansive gesture, “-is going to be polishing trophies until your fingerprints have been worn away and you can become the master criminals you clearly-”

“Madam Hooch, perhaps it would be best if we made our way back to the castle?” McGonagall asked. The two of them locked eyes in silent communication. Like they were soul-bonded or something.

“Brilliant, aren’t they?” Zadie had come to stand beside Andromeda. “Do you reckon that’ll be us when we’re old?” 

“You don’t seriously think…” Andromeda looked from Professor McGonagall to Madam Hooch and back again. 

“Ten galleons says they’re seeing one another,” Zadie whispered. Andromeda had serious doubts, but the hopeless romantic that she usually kept under lock-and-key sprung to the surface, and she smiled at Zadie’s intimation that they would still be together decades down the line.

“Well, if they are - and I’m sceptical - do you think McGonagall even has _time_ for a relationship? I’m not sure she sleeps… But _if_ they are, then sure. Except we’ll have better things to do than hanging around in the forest. You know,” she began playing with the ends of Zadie’s scarf, “-I had some plans as well. For us. I was hoping that-”

“Ack-gruesome-ack.” Sirius coughed.

“You alright, old man?” Remus managed to combine thumping Sirius on the back with copping a feel of his arse. “That cough sounds nasty, maybe we should head back. I’d hate to inconvenience Madam Pomfrey.” He turned an ingratiating smile towards the Professors.

“Quite right, Lupin,” said Madam Hooch. “We’ll continue this conversation over breakf-” She was interrupted by a blood-curdling scream, and the clearing descended into chaos.

In a matter of seconds, Sirius and Remus were back-to-back, wands drawn. Narcissa made a break for the trees, only to bounce back off the gigantic shield charms cast by McGonagall and Hooch around the whole group. Andromeda had immediately thrown herself on top of Zadie, who was spitting out a mouthful of wet leaves and casting her own set of shield charms - Circe, she was brilliant - and Bellatrix was… Bellatrix was…

“Is that a blast-ended skrewt?” Andromeda demanded.

“No!” Bella’s denial was rather undermined by the fact that she was wrestling a blast-ended skrewt. “It’s part of the ritual. Just argh, fuck!” With a fiery fart, the skrewt made a bid for freedom, burning its way through the hessian sack that Bella had, apparently, been carting it around in. “Little help here?” Bella glared at Sirius.

“Reckon you’ve got it under control,” Sirius glared back.

“Have you had that the whole time?” Narcissa interrupted, a look of abject horror on her face. “It could have killed us!” Bellatrix huffed and opened her mouth to respond, only to be distracted by the wriggling skewt. “We are in a forest!” Narcissa continued, getting to her feet. “With trees! Made out of wood!”

“She’s got a point.” Zadie’s breath tickled Andromeda’s ear, drawing attention to the fact that they were still stretched out on the wet forest floor. “Very noble of you,” Zadie’s eyes darted down to where their bodies were pressed together. “Are you sure you’re not a Gryff?”

“A-actually I think you’ll find it very Slytherin of me.” Andromeda smiled down at her. “Protect the most precious thing here, let the rest of them go to hell.”

“Oh. Well then.” Zadie was smiling too, a small thing at the corners of her mouth that Andromeda felt ridiculously proud of. “Guess I’ll forgive you for ruining my trainers.”

“Shit.” Andromeda jumped up. “Sorry. Shit. I-”

“Back to the castle. Now.” McGonagall’s voice was so low and controlled that all the small hairs on the back of Andromeda’s neck stood on end. It was not a voice that invited cheeky banter. 

***

Madam Hooch and Professor McGonagall led the charge back to the castle. Behind them, Narcissa followed closely, as though trying to prove she had no rule breaking to conceal by maintaining shadow-like proximity. Next was Bellatrix, carrying a smouldering sack and a matching look of extreme poutiness. Zadie and Andromeda were locked in a kind of silent, stilted battle with Remus and Sirius to maintain position at the back of the group. This largely consisted of stopping short with great frequency in an attempt to put more bodies between them and an under-slept, over-worked Minerva McGonagall. As they cleared the forest and began their way across the comparative safety of the grounds, the distance between the front and end of the group grew, and McGonagall’s unspoken gag order became commensurately less fearsome.

If Andromeda had been a betting woman, she would have wagered that Sirius would be the first to resume the insult rally. As it turned out, it was Zadie, who posed the rather sensible question: “Who wants to have their first shag in a mankey, damp forest on Samhain anyhow? If boys think rolling around among the mud and moss and who knows what else is erotic, I’m glad to be well clear or you."

 

Sirius ignored the slight against his sex and moved straight to the more pressing issue; "Who says it's my first shag?!"

“Spoken like someone who wasn’t halfway through getting his kit off before we appeared,” said Zadie.

“Well.” Remus ducked his head, a soft blush highlighting the silver scars criss-crossing his face.

“Honestly, Lupin, I thought you were supposed to be the grown up of your merry little band.” Andromeda piped up. 

“Nah, Moony just doesn’t like getting cold, or wet, or in trouble… or up early... or staying out late, or-”

“Crikey, Lupin, you’re not the grown up, you’re the dad,” said Zadie, appalled.

“Dads are fit,” Sirius said with a smirk. 

“Before we tackle your disturbing Electra complex,” Zadie prioritised, “let’s cover why Lupin, who apparently doesn’t like cold or wet or trouble or late nights, is following your sorry arse around the forest and risking all three.”

“My arse is worth it,” Sirius quipped, and, because he had a terminal case of Bellend, winked.

“We’ll never know,” Remus appended.

Sirius gave Remus a playful thwack on the chest and had a dose of instant karma visited upon him in the form tripping over his own feet - his boots had been left artfully unlaced, purely for the aesthetic, Andromeda suspected - and doing an Olympic-level faceplant. 

While Remus helped him up, Andromeda cast a look upward to where the castle loomed. McGonagall and Hooch were stood on each side of the main entrance; Bellatrix and Narcissa must have made a beeline for the dungeons while Zadie’d been goading Sirius and Remus.

McGonagall was tapping one foot, as though to chivy the lingering two-thirds of her miscreants, but she still looked out of earshot, and Andromeda couldn’t resist the impulse to impart some key wisdom to this pair of hopeless cases, especially when it also provided a venue for her to backdoor brag that she was getting some while Sirius was not.

“You both realise that you _share a dorm_ , right? Where you could get a leg over anytime at all. In your bed. Where it’s warm. And dry. Where there are showers to get cleaned up after. In a bathroom attached to the room where you sleep, where you can have another go if you want.”

“Again, in the warmth and the dry,” Zadie added, because it really did bear repeating. 

“I do, yes,” said Remus, and there was a genuine note of resignation in his voice, as though he well knew having Sirius for a lover meant that madcap, ham-handed capers intended to get them both some saucy action were far more likely to go tits up without fail. “I’ll no doubt die with my maidenhead intact.” To Andromeda’s horror, he sounded more besotted than anything at the prospect of being perpetually sexually thwarted by the very lad trying to seduce him.

Zadie just cackled. “Maybe you’re alright, Lupin. Ten points to Gryffindor for hilarious use of antiquated vocabulary. That kind of humour could get you far in Ravenclaw Tower.”

“Let’s test that theory another time,” Andromeda suggested in a whisper, feeling more cautious as they started up the front steps and approached two stern-faced witches. “Zadie and I are busy tonight - no tours on offer.”

“Exactly right,” Madam Hooch agreed as Andromeda, Zadie, Remus, and Sirius passed them and entered the castle. The doors swung shut as Professor McGonagall and Madam Hooch followed suit, and the snicks of locks, magical and physical, echoed through the Entrance Hall.

“Back to Gryffindor Tower, you two,” Professor McGonagall ordered Remus and Sirius with a extra-pointy finger in the general direction. “You’ll be hearing from me about your upcoming detentions.”

“Detentions plural?” Sirius began, but his protests were cut short by a throat-noise from Remus that plainly said: “Get us in more trouble tonight and everything below my chin will be off limits to you.”

“Very good moment to shut up, Mr Black,” Madam Hooch mock praised. 

“Now goodnight to you both.” The tone of Professor McGonagall’s farewell left no doubt that, in this case, “goodnight” meant, “a plague on both your houses.”

Exposure to Sirius and James Potter seemed to have given Remus a well-developed sense of when to cut his losses. He grabbed Sirius by the arm and pulled him up one of the staircases before it could move.

In their wake, Madam Hooch called, “And whatever you two must get up to, please keep it confined to your dormitories from now on, if only for the sake of my eight hours a night. It’s no joke sharing one’s life with the head of Gryffindor.” This last was directed at Zadie and Andromeda, and the accompanying rakish wink she gave them worked for her in a way that it hadn’t for Sirius (the tryhard). Despite the trouble Andromeda had willfully caused, it seemed to communicate knowingness and approval - solidarity.

Andromeda’s eyes widened at the notion that, not only were Madam Hooch and Professor McGonagall an… item, but they were being tragically sleep deprived and, in all likelihood, vag-blocked, by her next of kin. She made a mental offer to make up the ten galleons to Zadie in sexy favours and briefly considered whether Zadie would tolerate regular interruptions to her beauty sleep for Andromeda, but then Zadie took her hand, effectively rendering her embarrassingly pink-eared and sappy-hearted. Under McHoochigal’s power gaze, Andromeda nodded and squeezed Zadie’s hand in acknowledgement of Madam Hooch’s gesture. Then, because Andromeda Black knew to quit when she was ahead, she moved, hand still held in Zadie’s, to lead them in a hasty retreat up a staircase. 

Professor McGonagall and Madam Hooch’s footsteps resounded as they too headed, presumably, for their living quarters. The sound was suddenly joined by a cry from Zadie, who had absolutely zero sense of when to quit.

“Does this mean that our detentions-”

“You’ll still be serving every one, Ms Zabini.”

“Aye aye.” Zadie saluted. 

Andromeda, who, for all of her laudable traits, was still a Black, scoffed with the genetic memory of a centuries-old sense of superiority (and increasingly incestuous breeding).

Zadie, whose family was just as old, but far less stuffy, poked Andromeda in a sensitive spot between the ribs and said, “C’mon you. The sooner we get to bed the sooner I can get naked, and you can apologise to me for this fiasco.”

“Sure,” Andromeda said, and she meant it. “Then _”I’ll_ get starkers and you can thank me for leading a fiasco that ended in us having a Moment with McHoochigal.”

Zadie grinned. “Fair’s fair,” she acquiesced before releasing Andromeda’s hand to dash up the stairs two at a time. 

Andromeda chased after her.


End file.
